The Things You Find In A Bed Of Flowers
by franciejcdavies
Summary: "Shay. Shay Libson," And with that, an amazing connection was formed between the girl who could both burn things and heal things, and the person who could make people think, make people think anything that he wanted them to think. Charles Xaivier/My Charictor I don't own anything I don't own anything
1. Chapter 1

When he first found me, it was like coming home. I was lying in one of the public gardens, which wasn't something that he ever brought up until much, much, later. He came into my head, just for a moment, and then held out his hand. I grasped his. It was warm, his skin soft. I let him hoist me up into the air. He hadn't said anything to me, yet.

His voice was low, and soothing; it had been a long time since she had let anything soothing, ecpecially the voice of a man that she had never even seen before, "Hello. My name is Charles Xaiver. I was just inside your head for a moment, I'm very sorry about that,"

"Oh, that's fine. How did you know?" I asked, perfectly oblivious to the obvious answer to this question.

He flashed me a daring sort of smile, mocking, even, and briefly looked down at his shoes, before looking up and saying to me, "The flowers around you, have dried up. They're burnt,"

I looked down at the flowers underneath my feet. The tips of the petals were crisp and black, like a like rain had begun to fall, but instead of rain, soot had begun to fall from the sky. He spoke again, his voice barely a whisper, his head moving closer to my ear, "I just looked inside your head, and believe me when I tell you that I can take you somewhere where you can be safe."

And then something truly unusual happened. He put his hand to my cheek, and I was looking into his memories. And I suddenly had unconditional faith in what he was seeing to me. It was as if he had told me all about his life, reading his mother's mind when he was so small he didn't know what the words meant, and finding to little blue girl in his kitchen, but it had all flashed past my mind in less than a second.  
I nodded my head.

"Good," he said, "What's your name?"

"Shay. Shay Libson," he offered his hand again. I pretended not to notice it, and walked with him.

******Thanks for reading! PLEASE review******


	2. Chapter 2

"Alright, Shay, would you like to show me what it is that you can do?" Charles was sitting across a table from me. He'd brought me to his house, introduced me to Raven, who was also a mutant, like him, and given me a place to sleep, and space to think. Because I was now regretting my original desigin to trust this man whole-heart-idly.

And now, I was across the table from him, Raven sitting a few chairs down from me. I looked around for something to show them my power on. I used my slightly shaking hands to grasp a paper napkin from next to me. I twist my fingers as I was about to snap my fingers, but slower, and watched the thin paper shirivle and die, the flames slowly falling to burn the table. Just as the fire got truely unwieldy, I spun my fingers back to their original position, and the flames were gone. The napkin lay untouched in my palm, and the black scorch marks on the table were gone, as if they had never been there.

Raven let out a small sound of amazement, and Charles Xavier said to me, "That is truly astonishing. Not just creating and controlling flame, but erasing any mark of it's damage." A small silence passed, his fingers tracing the non-existent burn marks on his table.

"There's one more thing," I said. He leaned back. I readied myself, and pressed my fingernail deep into my forearm. Dark red blood oozed from the cut. I dried my finger on the napkin, reveling the pain and how good it would feel to get rid of is. I pressed the very same finger to the source of the blood, and the blood was gone. The cut was gone. The blood on the napkin was gone.

Charles Xavier was impressed.

"Shay Libson, you are truely remarkable. I hope you can stay,"


	3. Chapter 3

*****Thanks for sticking around! So very sorry #3 took so long! xoxo*****

Three days after the burnt napkin, I sat with him in his study, quietly looking at my hands. He hadn't looked inside my head since the first moment we'd met, but I could see him itching to.

"Shay," Xavier said, breaking the silence. He paused, formulating his words, "Are you ever going to talk to me? Because I desperately want to know who it is that you are. I looked into your head for just the smallest moment, and all I saw was incredible fear. I just want to make you feel safe. That's my goal in life right now,"

I took a deep breath, The deepest breath, and I held the air in my lungs for a good long time, before letting it out slowly, opening my mouth, and letting these words fall out, "I found out about my powers when I was eight. I lived with my parents in northern California, and they kept yelling at me for burning upholstery. When I was 11, my mother locked my in a room for two days, and she said that if she came back and I'd burnt anything, she'd send me away. That's when I learned to control it.

"My dad left when I was 14, so my and my mother moved to Western Nevada," I paused, looking back down at my hands for a moment, and then back up to the man across the desk from me, "A year after that I burned our house down and killed my mother,"

Not an ounce of surprise or fear flickered across his eyes. He took a deep breath, and another, looked at me, and said, "There's more to the story than you care to tell me isn't there? I know there is, and that's fine. I'll give you as much time as you need. But you _need_ to trust, me, Shay Libson. I let you into my head. I let you see this; see me. I trusted you. Now, trust me,

I looked up at him. He was still looking right at me. And then I did something that I hadn't ever done successfully done before. I told him everything. He let me tell the story without interrupting me, without letting any trace of surprise, anger, of fear pass through his features. He was untouchable while I finished my story. I said, "I killed me mother. I got home late after a party, and I was drunk. We started fighting. Fighting and fighting, and then I snapped. Snapped my fingers and the the curtains, the couch, and even her _clothes_ were on fire. I couldn't control it. I tried, helped a little, but all I got her was, probably, a slower death. I didn't know about the third part of my mutation yet; my ability to heal, so all I could do was run, away from being caught. I ran for so long I thought I must have gone three states, but I was still in Nevada. I hitchhiked to LA, got a job, lived on someone's couch. Until I met this guy, his name was Randy, and I moved in with him.

"Needless to say, I suppose, this guy wasn't very nice. But living with him wasn't totally unbearable, so I stayed for too long. Started saving money, so I could leave. But he found out about my powers. Well, I lit a tablecloth on fire, and he might have just thought I was a pyromaniac. The fire escalated. He called the police, and I was arrested. That was the first time I saw the inside of a police station.

"And then, I got out. I went crazy, you could say. I _really_ didn't want to go to prison, so I got out of my holding cell by means that, yeah, are probably classified as pyromania, and got out of the country. Spent my savings on a plane here. Changed my name, changed my hair and eye color, got a job.

"So, yeah, Mr. Moral Charles, I'm crazy. I go crazy, and sometimes I can't control this thing that I can do. And sometimes, I can't heal. And yes, _I trust you_. It's me that maybe shouldn't be trusted."

"I trust you,"


End file.
